Tomorrow
by Eleonora M
Summary: In which Effie isn't all that innocent and ignorant as she appears to be, Haymitch is a bitter old drunk who resents just about everyone, and two teenagers are trying to stay alive long enough to actually get a life. A story of how life in general has a habit of screwing everyone over.
1. Her (Part I)

AN: Hello! This is my first Hunger Games fic (and first fic in general), and although I have yet to read the books (they are high on my list), I just had to write a Haymitch/Effie centered fic. I mean… how cute are they? Anyway… There will be eleven chapters or so, and I do so hope you'll enjoy it.

Umm, and just a fair warning… English is my third language, so beware of grammar and such. I do try, though.

Last warning: I took some liberties regarding Effie's character (but don't we all?). Sooo, a not so incompetent and ignorant Effie ahead.

* * *

**Tomorrow**

A part of me own these grounds but they're no longer mine

I have to find a way home

And you, you were all that I got, you kept me hanging on

I have to make it on my own now

Oh, oh the night is young

And a hollow tooth was all it took

And I, I tied the laces around my wrist

For the last time, meet me at the same place

Oh if tomorrow comes

I wanna waste my love on you like a pearl merchant

I'm ready to learn what it takes to burn

I'm gonna let you show me what it means to breathe fire

Tomorrow _by_ Niki and the Dove

* * *

**Her (Part I)**

…

"Come away, O human child!  
To the waters and the wild  
With a faery, hand in hand,  
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."

― W.B. Yeats, _The Collected Poems_

…

_Effie 5 years old (Haymitch 16)_

They were fighting again. Never mind the fact that they were on the phone; it never seemed to stop them anyhow. They both had exceptionally bad tempers, almost explosive, and to the point where she was afraid her mother would throw something _lethal_ at her dad – though he did have a penchant for ducking rather quickly when her mother tossed minor things at him.

Sometimes it got so bad she had to seek refuge at her grandmother's place.

It wasn't that she disliked staying with her grandmother, quite the opposite in fact, but she much preferred her parents – even if they were fighting.

She loved her parents more than anything, her dad especially. Her mother was a real Capitol lady, in every sense of the word, but her dad was different. It was a feeling, like he didn't really belong in the Capitol at all. He never acted like other Capitol men, nor did he dress like them. He was odd that way.

He said, and did, things others didn't. Her mother didn't find that very funny, but she loved him lots and lots and lots, Effie could see that plain as a day. Her dad had many moods; it was sometimes hard to tell what went on in his head, and her mother definitely thought so too. There were, however, times where he was hurting, but Effie couldn't understand it very well. She looked carefully, and she found that there was no owie to be found, so naturally there was something else bothering him.

But what?

This time of the year brought out the worst in her dad, she realized early on. She didn't know why, but whenever her dad left for a few weeks to work as a mentor (she didn't know what that was, but she imagined it was something bad), he would change into a complete and utter asshole – according to her mother (and she really wasn't supposed to have overheard that particular conversation, or whatever they wished to call it).

This year was particularly bad – at least she thought so – even the weeks before he left were horrible. He woke up screaming in the middle of the night, tossing and turning (she heard, and sneaked a peak. She couldn't resist). It got to the point where her mother banned her from the bedroom when he was in this state. _That_ she wasn't quite so pleased with. After all, if her daddy had a bad dream, wouldn't he want her to comfort him? Just like he did when she had a bad dream.

She found it all very, very strange.

She loved her parents and of course she didn't want to see them hurt, so it unsettled her and ultimately made her sad.

There was in general many odd things about her and her family. For instance, Aurelius Vanderheim (an _extremely_ rude boy from her kindergarten) always called her a Halfling, something she didn't understand the meaning of. As far as she knew, she was as whole as could be. She might be half the height of an adult, but so was he, so obviously that couldn't be it.

She secretly found it very funny, when their teacher found out about his teasing, and oh boy, she even called his parents! He never bothered her again after that, nor did anyone else. Still, some gave her funny looks once in a while, but it was mostly the parents, which was even stranger! They all looked interestedly at her whenever they had time to pick up their children, as it was mostly an Avox who brought them home. Some parents looked appraisingly at her, others fawned over her.

She asked her mother a couple of times, but she just told her to forget it and that she would explain it when she got older. Sometimes she said it was because she was the prettiest girl in their wing of the kindergarten.

Well, that wasn't very helpful, but what could she do about it?

So, as the good and adorable little girl that she was – everyone always told her so – she ignored it. It wasn't her place to question her mother, but that didn't mean she still wasn't curious, and she certainly never forgot about it.

She huffed and stomped all the way up to her room, happy to be away from all the fighting. She wanted to forget about the uncertainties, if only just for a little while. All the unfamiliar words, like tributes and hunger games, like victors and mentors. Her head was spinning, and she found that is wasn't nice at all.

Perhaps her grandmother would be more lenient in explaining things to her, to shed just a smidgen of light on all of her inquiries. It couldn't hurt to ask nicely, after all, her grandmother was a stickler for manners.

She shook her head and filed away the newly formed idea in her mind, now was not the time to think about it. Her dolls demanded her attention and she was only too happy to oblige them.

She played for an hour before she looking at the pink clock on her bedside table. She frowned, and put the doll in her hand on the plush carpet. She listened carefully, trying to hear whether or not they had finished fighting over the phone.

Once the yelling had subsided, she deemed it safe to venture down to the TV room, tired of playing with her dolls. Her eyes always got tired from all the colorful dresses and accessories. Yellow, green, blue, red. Sharp colors meant to impress.

But she loved it. She couldn't help it, but she loved all the different dresses, the dolls with changeable wigs, and the vibrant make-up you could apply. But it wasn't just dolls she played with, not at all. She had costumes herself, dresses fit for royalty, wigs in different sizes and colors, shoes and what not.

She loved to dress up, to become another person entirely. It was easy and fun.

It was pure heaven. Her room was her sanctuary; she found peace here, here with her dolls and her costumes. Here she could ignore all else and immense herself with games and tales of her own making. Here there was no judgment, no confusion – only her and who she chose to be.

She gently placed her dolls back on the mahogany shelves, careful not to break them or ruin their final outfit. She took one last studying look, settled for a satisfied nod, and walked purposefully towards the door. She really should hurry, lest she missed her show, but her grandmother always told her a proper young lady didn't run like a savage.

But then _it_ happened. An occurrence she would remember years after it took place, albeit she didn't make much sense of it now, and how could she? She was only a girl, five years old and quite sheltered at the time.

It was the beginning of everything.

As innocent as it was, she merely wanted to watch her favorite program on the television, but the moment she turned on the TV, she saw a massacre unfold before her eyes.

A young boy on his knees, trying to hold his intestines in and a girl, not much older, was throwing an axe at him.

She held her breath.

Eyes wide open.

This wasn't her favorite cartoon and it wasn't fictional. It was real. She could tell by the "_live"_ sign in the upper right corner of the screen.

The boy dodged and the axe rebounded in the direction of the girl. It hit her right in the head, killing her on the spot. Effie was petrified, her eyes were fixed on the poor boy and for some reason she couldn't take her eyes off him.

That's when her mother chose to appear, and of course it all ended there. But one thing she knew for sure.

The images would forever be etched into her mind.

* * *

…

"We tend to forget at times that it is the little ones, the children, who do suffer the greatest hurt. If we cannot comprehend why certain sorrows are visited upon us, how on earth can they?"

― _Sharon Kay Penman__, __The Sunne in Splendour_

…

_Effie 7 years old_

Things were better yet still the same. What _had_ changed was the fact that she now understood why her dad was special, why her mother was special, and why she was special. Her dad had once won the Hunger Games, a show (or game) she did not like. At home she wasn't allowed to watch it, her mother made sure of that, strict as she was. But as the social little butterfly that she was, she stayed with a friend one afternoon and saw the horrors her dad had been through.

Of course she knew about the games, she had seen snippets (she would rather not remember the incident, but it always seemed to come to mind) here and there all over the city, the TV, the papers. The popularity of it knew no bounds.

And really, how could she not notice anything?

Whenever the games took place, the whole city was in an uproar. Everything was about the game and the so-called tributes, but she honestly didn't put much stock into it. She found it brutal and horrible, and she couldn't imagine what they went through.

Honestly, Effie was taught how to behave nicely, and there was nothing _nice_ about the Hunger Games, it seemed like double standards to her.

She was only seven and the tributes were not much older than her. She certainly had no desire to be in the Arena, fighting for her life, only to humor the citizens of the Capitol.

She was quite certain no citizen of the Capitol had any desire to be in the Arena either, prestige or not.

Double standards indeed.

Of course she kept her opinions to herself, seeing as everyone else loved it. And even if no one said it out loud, everyone knew that being different wasn't something you wanted to be. It was simply bad manners. You should always strive to be an inspiration to others, but never go against the unspoken rules of society.

So naturally she kept her thoughts to herself.

Besides, her mother was busy prepping her for the admission to a renowned private school, and she found the etiquette and mannerisms very fascinating, and she was – of course – a natural. Behaving was what she did best, and taking her parents' tempers into consideration, she seemed almost out of place in the little household. Although, her parents _did_ behave in public, which she found quite amazing.

It was fair to say that games like the Hunger Games wasn't all that interesting to her... until Inea August's mother mentioned her dad's place in the Games, and ironically enough there was a rerun of her dad's year playing on one of the many screens in Inea's TV room.

To say she was shocked was an understatement. But of course she acted like the polite and good mannered little girl that she was, and then nodded like she already knew, threw in a few vague comments for good measure, and voila. Her grandmother would be proud.

She was good at acting, she realized then and there, just like her parents. Of course she enjoyed acting and playing in her own room, but she never fully realized how convincing she could be. How good she had become.

But her dad was a Victor.

She should have known by the yearly "job" he so despised, but Victors were from other districts and her family had always lived in the Capitol. She never made the connection until now. But no matter, she was still shocked to her very core.

Her kind and gentle daddy had survived being Reaped as they called it. He had killed in order to survive; it was no wonder he had nightmares.

She kept her cool all the way home from Inea, but her inner turmoil was close to suffocating her. She swallowed her own bile several times on the way home, all the while politely greeting familiar faces. Another testament to her newly discovered abilities.

When she finally got home, she sat down quietly and asked her mother why they never told her.

The look on her mother's face was one she would never forget. The look of horror mixed with shock was almost too much for her to bear, but she had to know. She had to know the truth, and for the first time in her life, that was exactly what she got.

* * *

…

"When mom and dad went to war the only prisoners they took were the children"

_― __Pat Conroy_

…

_Effie 8 years old _

Being eight wasn't all that different from being seven, although she understood a bit more about the world she lived in.

Her parents were not happy, not by a long shot. Her dad had begun to drink, a lot, then her mother started to yell, which only led to him yelling back.

It was a vicious circle.

And no one, except her grandmother, really paid her much mind during this period.

She did the only thing she could think of. She acted like her usual bubbly and happy self to break the tension around the house, but sometimes it only made it worse. Why was being happy so wrong? To smile and laugh, when her parents forgot to?

It was safe to say that there were still many things Effie didn't_, couldn't,_ understand yet.

Her dad looked tired and worn, like he had given up on everything. He hardly talked to her anymore. Not that he was very talkative in the first place, yet this was hurting her more than she could describe.

He didn't even smell like he used to. She couldn't put a finger on it, but she was sure it had something to do with his extreme alcohol consumption. He didn't smell like her daddy anymore, instead he bore an unfamiliar scent she didn't like.

He became a stranger to her, and her mother seemed to share her sentiments, or rather, she abhorred his drinking and the effect it had on their family dynamics.

Sometimes he could barely stand to look at her, although her mother didn't seem to have the same problem. She always had his attention.

Effie didn't, and she had no idea why. Perhaps if she started to yell at him like her mother, maybe then he would be forced to acknowledge her, but that was just bad, bad, bad manners (a proper lady never raised her voice and never spoke with unfavorable words).

It was almost like he hated her, hated to look at her, his own daughter. She didn't understand any of it, but she was beginning to think her outstanding behavior was the cause. Her happiness and laughter. She was glad she had her grandmother, at least she loved her unconditionally, and she most certainly adored her good manners.

Sometimes she wished it were only her grandmother and she.

But as the saying goes, you should always be careful what you wish for.

* * *

…

"...the child trying not to appear as a child, of the strenuousness with which she tried to present the face of a convincing adult."

― _Joan Didion, Blue Nights_

…

_Effie 10 years old _

Things were strained lately. Her parents were tense all the time. Fake smiles plastered on their faces, hushed conversations and worried looks. It wasn't like before, when they just yelled at each other and practically ignored her. No, this was something else entirely.

Her dad had stopped drinking not too long ago, and he didn't seem to hate her as much as he previously had, in fact he paid much more attention to her – in a good way.

Of course she didn't understand any of it, but she knew something big, and something very bad was about to happen. When something good happened, something bad always followed.

They never spoke much around the house; it was almost like they were afraid to speak out loud. She honestly couldn't say what was wrong, as they never told her anything of importance. Her mother still taught her in the ways of high society, and ever since she got accepted at the Capitol Academy of Little Women and Proper Ladies, her mother (and grandmother) kept teaching her every little thing they knew about the rules of society, fashion and proper etiquette.

Especially the fashion.

An upside was that not only did her dad pay more attention to her, but he talked a lot more with her too. He told her of District 7, about his childhood, about the grandparents she never got to know, and most importantly; he told her of empathy, he spoke of love and how to treat people equally. He told her that people were people, and coming from another District didn't matter one bit.

A few times he mentioned the Hunger Games to her, and he looked positively shell-shocked when she told him of the hate she harbored for the games. He had never asked her before, so of course he wouldn't know.

He looked proud of her, a fact she relished in. It was a rare look on him. However, her dad _did_ tell her to never mention it to anyone else, but that he was proud of her and the person she had become – even if she was only ten years old.

In return she merely told him _that she wasn't stupid, and that of course she knew it shouldn't be mentioned in public_.

That, however, only startled him more, given by the look she received.

All she ever wanted to do was to make her parents proud, her dad more so than her mother, she could never really pinpoint why that was. But she tried to do so by behaving impeccably, because that was all she knew. Her mother loved it; she often said so, although she sometimes acted like she wasn't quite so sure about it. The uncertainty almost drove her crazy, and that's where her grandmother helped. She had no hidden agenda that she knew of, and she was especially pleased by her accomplishments.

She always mumbled something about her being what her mother wasn't.

She had learned to never voice her opinions around the house, and not to mention anything to others. She preferred to keep her thoughts to herself though, so it wasn't much of a problem. She felt much safer by doing that, like she had created a shield, a cocoon of protection and safety around herself.

Everything else would bounce off and she could keep people at a safe distance.

A lot of people around her simply adored her, though she certainly didn't find many of them as agreeable as they found her. Most only saw her as the daughter of a Victor, half Capitol and half Victor, someone to be admired – the best of both worlds. But she smiled and behaved, made them think she liked them, even when they acted pretentious and downright stupid.

So she acted – purely on instinct – just as she did when she played in her room. Sometimes it was even kind of fun, well, actually it was always fun. People could be so stupid, and oh so easy to fool.

What she didn't know at the time was that her life would depend on her ability to act and conceal her thoughts and opinions later on.

People in the Capitol were unbelievably odd, she decided, but perhaps it was due to the way she was raised compared to them. Her parents stood out, although it was only in private.

She was just like her father (and a bit like her mother – her dad certainly didn't care one bit for the Capitol fashion); only he didn't seem to know that fact about her, well, he did now. After he took an actual interest in her, he found that they weren't as different as he had previously thought.

Still, things at home were perhaps a bit _too_ different for her liking.

She thought back to a conversation between her parents she couldn't get out of her head. It made little sense to her and had everything to do with their current situation.

"_Are you out of your mind?!" she screamed. Effie couldn't see her face, but by the high-pitched sound coming from her mother, she imagined her eyes were lit with fire, a tempest with no equal._

"_Lower your god damn voice, you lunatic!" He whispered back vehemently. By the sound of _his_ voice she could tell he was just as angry._

"_How could you? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?" Her mother retaliated, this time in a lower voice. She had to strain her ears to hear what was being said now; it was a wonder her mother actually listened to what her dad told her. _

_It must have been bad for her mother to obey, for her to lower her voice. Her mother was terribly fond of speaking loudly, preferably yelling where her dad was concerned._

"_Why… Just why?" Her mother was crying, she realized, but she did so in hushed tones._

"_You know why, Arabella." He whispered softly. She barely heard him, but she had inched closer to the door. She wouldn't miss this conversation for the world._

"_What about Effie? About me? Do you even care?" Her mother certainly knew how to guilt trip him, but perhaps it wasn't the time to think about such trivial matters._

"_I'm doing this for you." He paused. "Do you honestly want to live like this? In fear of saying the wrong things for the rest of our lives?" He sounded hurt. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, but you knew what you walked into when we married."_

"_I know. But that doesn't make it any easier." Her mother sighed, her sobbing almost gone._

"_I know, sweetheart, I know." She could hear them moving, and she wondered if they were hugging. _

"_Are you sure you want to do this? There's no turning back if we do." Her mother began uncertainly._

"_We?" A thump was heard, it sounded oddly familiar, and her mother had probably just hit him over his head, as she usually did when she thought him impertinent._

"_Of course you idiot." There was a long pause, and Effie wondered if she should move on, afraid they would catch her in the act of eavesdropping. It wasn't polite, and she was about to move on, when her dad continued. _

"_Nero has made contact with 13." Now that was confusing. Her parents had never mentioned anyone by the name Nero before, and she had no idea what they meant by 13. Was it another person perhaps? But to be named after a number wasn't very fetching, was it?_

"_Shh! You do realize this isn't a conversation to be had in this house, don't you?" Her mother's voice turned serious again. Almost violently so._

_And that's when the phone rang, and Effie scurried away in a very unladylike manner. Her grandmother would have had an aneurism, had she seen her._

* * *

…

"Children must be taught how to think, not what to think."

_― __Margaret Mead_

…

And then one afternoon it happened. Her parents offered a bit more.

"Listen carefully, little Effie." Her parents looked serious, more so than she had ever seen them before. There was an undertone of worry too. It frightened her, it made her blood run cold and she prepared herself for the worst.

"Things are happening, sweetheart, things you can't know about yet. But we need you to understand that we love you more than anything sweetie, and if anything should happen to us… you run straight for grandmother's house. No looking back, no lingering around the house, nothing, you run and you make sure no one sees you."

"What do you mean? You are going to be all right! Aren't you?" she was panicking, her eyes were wide and anyone could tell she was scared beyond belief. Her dad had never been one to sugarcoat things, always cursing and speaking his mind as he saw fit at home, but that her mother was the one to begin this? If that wasn't cause for alarm she didn't know what was.

"Shh! Sweetheart, calm down!" her mother began frantically, looking over her shoulder, paranoid to a fault, to make sure no one was in the near vicinity. They were sitting in Effie's favorite park, enjoying a nice picnic while the weather was still lovely, the sun shining and not a cloud to be seen.

The day had started out perfect for once, and it was safe to say she hadn't expected this.

"But… but." She stammered. She had no words for this.

"Sweetheart… Effie, if something happens you go to grandmother's place. Is that understood?" Her dad said with finality.

"Yes, daddy."

She didn't find the rest of the day all that agreeable, even if her parents tried to lighten up the mood. She barely enjoyed the ice cream they bought her, favorite and all, finding it tasteless. She had a lot on her mind, and ice cream was the last of her concerns.

She did, however, find it in her to act happy. Not like she usually would have, it was a bit more subdued, even her parents could tell that much.

It was two days after their picnic the inevitable happened. At least Effie believed it to be inevitable, because that's what it sounded like after the serious conversation with her parents.

They had all had a fantastic evening, according to Effie at least. Her parents had spoiled her rotten with candy and presents, for no apparent reason. She figured they might have thought back to the years, where they forgot to appreciate the fact that they had a daughter. Or perhaps they were afraid something big would happen soon, and therefore decided to show her just how much they loved her.

She wasn't complaining, but it unnerved her.

Children could always tell when something was wrong. They didn't necessarily know what, but they knew something was off.

They had played and laughed; she could scarcely remember an evening that could compare to this. They even let her sleep in their bed that night. They never did that. In retrospect it was probably what saved her in the end, but she wouldn't know that until days later.

She felt safe there, tucked in between her parents, and she felt whole for the first time in a long while. She had only just fallen asleep when everything went wrong. Her parents scrambled out of bed when they heard an unknown sound coming from the kitchen. They violently woke her up, shaking her most callously and snapped her out of her shock at being awoken so rudely.

"Effie, get under the bed, now! Don't make a sound no matter what happens! Promise me!" Her dad cried out frantically. He hugged her fiercely, so did her mother, and before she registered what happened, they had practically shoved her under the bed. They made sure the bedspread was covering the space between bed and floor.

Not long after Peacekeepers burst into the room, weapons in their hands. Effie was petrified; the bedspread left open a small crack, allowing her to see the horrors happening before her innocent little eyes. Her parents, brave as they were, started to fight back. An axe in her dad's hands, a gun in her mother's. They must have hidden them somewhere in the room, and before all this, Effie wouldn't have understood why – now she did.

There was blood everywhere. A Peacekeeper fell to the floor, eyes wide open, but not moving. He was dead, she realized belatedly. Her mother was the next to fall, not quite dead yet and staring horrified at Effie lying beneath the bed. She could see the life seeping out of her mother, ever so slowly, and ever so painful.

Effie covered her mouth with her hand. She did as she was told; she was a good girl. She didn't move, didn't make a sound, and could do little else but look on as her dad went berserk.

Blood dripping.

More blood.

Three Peacekeepers went down, while more came in.

Pools of blood.

Her daddy was next, bloody and battered he looked as he fell. Her dad was no longer. Her mother gone too.

She was alone, all alone in this world.

The bodies were dragged out heartlessly, and no one thought to look under the bed.

* * *

…

"Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up"

― _Veronica Roth, Divergent_

…

"Hold!" A Peacekeeper came out of nowhere and grabbed ahold of her. Instantly, she was kicking, hitting, biting. Anything in her power to get away, but a ten-year-old stood no chance against a grown man.

She had a wild look in her eyes when he tried to reach for his communicator. She couldn't be caught, she had to get away; she had to live. Her parents would have wanted her to fight, so fight she did.

He kept snatching her back every time she nearly got away, writhing and kicking, hitting where possible, but never did she scream or utter so much as a sound. Her dad had taught her better than that. Her right hand worked its way into her little emergency satchel, her fingers finding her knife. She needed to, she didn't want to, but she had to do it.

Her mind blanked out for a brief moment when she remembered the origin of her little pink knife. Her body she had no control of, while her eyes glossed over and thoughts disappeared to the place where the memories of her parents were stored.

"_I would have given you an axe," he smirked, "but you know how your mother is, and of course your mother was dead set against it." Her eyes widened in fear. _

"_Why would I even need this, daddy?" She mumbled, as she eyed the pink knife in her hands warily. It was kind of pretty, but perhaps it was just the pink talking. Pink really was her favorite color this week._

"_You never know when it might come in handy." He shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. "Just keep in on you, just in case something happens." He looked serious this time. "Promise me."_

"_I promise." She nodded, and just like that they never spoke of it again._

She panicked. Her face the picture of horror, knife gripped tightly in her hand as if her life depended on it, the knife her dad had imposed on her.

What did she do?

He wasn't moving anymore, the twitching long gone, blood seeping from the wounds she had inflicted on him.

She had killed him, killed a man, killed a Peacekeeper.

What now?

What was she going to do?

They would search for her, hunt her down, she was sure of it. They would know it was her, unless she did something. Something clever, something drastic. She needed to throw them off her scent, divert their attention elsewhere. Far away from her.

The idea came to mind before she knew what happened. She had always been good when in stressful situations, thinking on her feet.

The rebellion, the rebels, their cause. No longer did panic rule her, there wasn't time for that.

She fell down to her knees and dipped her fingers in the offending pool of blood. It was still warm, as if reminding her of her hideous actions. Guilt gnawed at her insides, but she would have to hurry, if she was going to pull this off.

Shaky fingers met icy cold bricks, eyes focused as her index finger ran over the rough surface. She bathed her fingers in the blood three more times before her work was done.

She stepped back and let her eyes admire her work, before looking over her shoulder and continued the dangerous journey to her grandmother.

Left in her wake were words in red, in blood, still dripping down the surface of the wall.

_The rebellion is near, _

_May the odds be ever in your favor. _

There was no way they would look for a ten-year-old.

* * *

…

"When a child first catches adults out - when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not always have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just - his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child's world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing."

_— __John Steinbeck__ (__East of Eden__)_

…

"Grandmother!" Her grandmother shot out of her bed faster than Effie had ever seen her move before. She had snuck in by the back entrance, the key hidden under one of her grandmother's exotic plants from District 2.

"What on earth happened? Where are your parents?" Her grandmother looked horror stricken as she gazed upon her darling little girl. Eyes like a lunatic, her clothes stained with blood, a knife tightly held in her hand; her grip so hard her knuckles turned white. Her baby-doll nightgown, given to her as a birthday present by her mother, hung askew and smeared in blood; her grandmother hardly knew what to do, where to look.

"They came for them." Her voice trembled and she was shaking like a leaf in the wind. "They… they killed them." She was in shock. "There was b-blood everywhere. Everywhere."

Tears sprung from her grandmother's dark eyes, but she forced them down; it wasn't the time to be grieving, it was time to take action, no matter how hard and heartbreaking it was. She had always been a steadfast woman, set in her ways and cunning beyond belief. There was a reason she was an influential woman; she had worked her way up the social ladder, shrewd and heartless some would say, but she had come far on her own.

"Did anyone see you?" Effie didn't answer, she didn't know how. "Effie! Did anyone see you?!"

"A… a Peacekeeper. He wouldn't- wouldn't let go. I couldn't get away… and…a-nd…" She cried hysterically. "Daddy's knife, h-he gave it to me, he said to always bring it… I didn't mean to do it!" She yelled. "He wouldn't let go!" Her tears wouldn't stop falling, she couldn't stop the heavy sobs raking through her tiny body and her grandmother had to silence her, even if she wanted nothing more than to hug her granddaughter and tell her everything was going to be all right.

"Enough, Effie! You hear me!" She shook her shoulders once more, trying to snap her out of her stupor. "Take of your clothes, we- we'll have to burn it. You need to wash of the blood, too. There mustn't be any evidence of this. And for god's sake, give me that knife, now!" She said firmly, eyes like lightening. Feelings could come later.

"N-no! Not the knife, you can't have it! Daddy gave it to me!" She was still hysterical, and she couldn't part with the knife her daddy had given her. She wouldn't let her grandmother take it, she just wouldn't.

"We need to wash of the blood, Effie, and we will hide the knife. I promise. But right now you need to give it to me. It won't be long before the peacekeepers will come knocking, and you can't be implicated. I can't lose another daughter. I refuse to let them take you." Her grandmother spoke harshly, the grip on Effie's little shoulders almost bruising.

She nodded, with a tearstained face and red eyes; she did what her grandmother asked of her.

By the time Effie was clean and tucked into bed, the dreaded ring of the doorbell sounded through the old mansion. She pulled the duvet over her head and curled into a ball, still shaking, and now silent like the dead. She couldn't stop crying, and while she was no longer hysterical, the tears wouldn't stop falling. Her mind kept seeing flashes of the night's horrors, and she couldn't stop it, they kept on forcing themselves to the front of her mind.

Again and again and again.

Blood. So much blood. It made her sick to her stomach, and she would have expelled the contents of her stomach, had it not been for the fact that she had retched the moment she set food in the bathroom. There was nothing left, physically and emotionally.

She felt empty. Lost.

She hadn't truly believed her parents when they warned her of the potential dangers ahead of them. She did now, and she resented them for it. Why did they let it happen? Why? They knew it would come to pass, and they still continued whatever it was they were doing.

Rebels, traitors, dangers to society, words the Peacekeepers threw at them repeatedly as they beat them to death.

Effie wasn't stupid. She knew what it meant. She knew what they must have been doing in secret. They died for their cause, and the worst part was that she couldn't blame them. She understood, and she knew from the bottom of her heart that they were right to defy the Capitol.

But that also meant she now had to grow up without her parents.

She cried harder.

She could hear her grandmother's sobbing from downstairs, and she knew the message had been relayed properly – or perhaps not. She doubted the Peacekeepers would tell the truth.

But one thing was certain.

She would never forgive them for this night, and she would _never_ forget.

She wanted revenge.

And she would have it.

…

"I don't like it, but my hands are tied. I just want you to know this: if I ever get the chance to betray you, I will. If the opportunity arises to pay you back, I'll take it. You'll never be able to trust me."

_— __Darren Shan__ (__A Living Nightmare (Cirque Du Freak, #1)__)_

…

TBC

…

* * *

Tadaaaah!

Aaaaand first part is done. I promise Haymitch will be in the next chapter, but it is Effie centric… with lots of Haymitch (later on). I just love her, and she's so much fun to play with! Leave a comment if you like, I'm quite interested in what you think.

Love,

Eleonora


	2. Her (Part II)

AN: …and I'm back again. Oh, and before I forget… there WILL be Peeta/Katniss moments. I simply adore those two (a match made in heaven – in my opinion at least). A bit of Hayffie ahead.

No beta to take credit, so you'll have to excuse my grammar (it is my third language after all… I know, bad excuse, but hey, life is full of bad excuses).

Disclaimer (I forgot that last time…): I don't own a damn thing, except my lovely computer (I named him Ludvig II).

* * *

**Tomorrow**

Her (Part II)

…

"There's a difference between playing and playing games. The former is an act of joy, the latter — an act."

― _Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration_

…

_Effie 12 years old_

Contrary to popular belief, Euphemia Trinket wasn't the innocent little doll she made herself out to be. She was an actress, and a good one at that. She knew her role in the Capitol and she knew exactly how to play it. She had shrewd mind, she knew, but it was necessary. She was grateful for the gift she had been granted.

She was everyone's darling. She was sweet and always smiling. She was the teacher's pet, yet none resented or ridiculed her for it; in fact, they loved her more because of it. She was an inspiration and already setting the trend – fashion wise.

She was a lot of things these days, yet being true to herself was not among her revered qualities. She simply couldn't afford that kind of luxury, not with what she had in mind.

She harbored an unparalleled hatred for the Capitol; a fury etched so deep into her bones, her blood, and her very soul. Some days she worried her anger and bitterness would consume her, pull her into the depths of hell and never relinquish the suffocating grip it had on her. The claws of darkness dug hard and deep.

At night she found it hard to breathe and even harder to forget. It was always the worst part of the day for her. She couldn't pretend there, she could no longer uphold the persona she had created and so ardently played in public; it was torture; to be plunged so deep into the abyss she could no longer see the light. But she kept pushing herself to the limit, reassuring herself it wasn't all that bad, that all her hard labor would prove fruitful in the end. That it would soon be over.

She was lying to herself, and deep down she knew it, she just didn't want to acknowledge it for what it was – which was the truth.

She was constantly lying, but the odd thing was that she found it so… easy. Perhaps, she mused, it was the only thing that kept her sane (that and her grandmother), strange as it may sound. If she lied enough then maybe, just maybe, some of it would become true.

For instance, she was never seen the night her parents were murdered. Unbelievable as it was, she made it home to her grandmother safely, unseen and merely shocked and traumatized by what she had seen from under the bed. She had been lucky that night, to think she had avoided being seen by the Peacekeepers! It was nothing short of a miracle.

At least that is what she told herself, repeatedly, over and over again as she desperately tried to sleep at night. But the lie never turned into the truth, steadfastly remaining the lie that it was, and in the end she couldn't pretend in the dark, underneath her duvet. It was impossible.

Still, she kept going. Her grandmother probably suspected something wasn't right with her, but Effie knew she couldn't prove anything. She would under no circumstances pull her grandmother into this mess.

She could – and would – never confide in anyone, not even her grandmother, it was simply too dangerous. While she loved her unconditionally, her grandmother couldn't be involved in this, she had already risked a lot for her sake just by taking her in. Effie had no plans to lose her grandmother too, it was enough her parents had been viciously ripped out of her life; she couldn't stand to lose the only person she had left.

She was the only person to support her; the only one left who genuinely cared about her.

Her life was lonely, all about pretending and trying to figure out a way to bring the Capitol down to its knees; to stop the games, to help the people from the districts, to ensure everyone would be treated fairly. No more starving.

No more fear.

She had no idea how to accomplish this on her own, but she knew she would find a solution, a way to get her revenge.

She thought about it every night, long and hard, when she finally had time for such treacherous thoughts without interruptions. She had a few ideas already, simmering in the back of her mind.

She was good at acting, that was a given, so naturally that was what she was going to do. She didn't know which profession would offer the most valuable advantages, but she knew she would have to work on the inside; she would rip the system apart from within, piece by piece, she would see it crumble.

The only problem now was to connect with the factions _outside_. That part she hadn't quite worked out yet.

She had no idea how to contact the remaining rebels, if there were any left to be found, but she knew deep within her heart some still existed. It was a gut feeling, based on her knowledge of human beings. Hope would always prevail in the end, but in order for it to break through, to succeed, it needed to be nurtured it. It needed to grow until the Capitol could no longer contain it.

But still she wondered. How on earth was she going to find the opposition? Would they even trust her if she found them? How, how, how? And most importantly – when.

Some would have insisted this was a hopeless cause, but she couldn't afford – nor would she – to think like that. She would never let them win. _Never._ They had spilt blood of too many innocent people, and above all, they had wronged her family, wronged her.

She was patient, and she had no qualms about waiting, as long as she was rewarded with victory in the end. Patience was her new best friend, yet the most hated feeling of all.

* * *

…

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

— _Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower)_

…

_Effie 15 years old_

She despised them.

She loathed every single one of them from the bottom of her heart, felt repulsed by their advances, and made her want to scrub herself clean every time they as much as looked at her.

They didn't know her and they certainly didn't make an effort to do so, they just assumed she was like any other Capitol girl. Effie knew better than to assume, but_ clearly_ they didn't.

She wasn't a foolish girl anymore; she was a _woman _now.

Well, almost.

They tried to woo her by ordinary means. By buying her overzealous flowers in colors worthy of a rainbow, pretentious dinner dates at the hottest clubs and restaurants, and not to forget – the offering of countless of empty promises. She saw right through them the moment they opened their mouth, could tell by their sleazy smiles and looks, and honestly, most didn't even know how to dress properly. They were taught manners as the Capitol dictated, yet, some seemed to have escaped the lessons in courteousness and respect.

The latter often neglected entirely.

Of course she went on a couple of dates, no matter how much she disliked the Capitol-bred pigs. Appearances needed to be upheld, and she would rather die than to be revealed as a… fraud? Rebel? Who knew what she really was, but she had worked too hard and too long to give up now, to see everything fall to pieces because of a man.

A few horrible dates were nothing, nothing at all.

Or so she thought.

They kept pushing their way into her life, slithering closer and closer without her knowledge, hoping to get a piece of the elusive Miss Trinket.

Because that was exactly why they kept trying.

She barely acknowledged them, gave them the cold shoulder whenever she could (in a polite way of course!), and somehow it made her even more desirable to them. She smiled at them, spoke courteously and never behaved appallingly. Perhaps a gentle touch to their arm, their hand, all acts wholly innocent, but apparently enticing to them.

She quickly discovered the Capitol men to be simple creatures – and extremely susceptible to her allure – but perhaps it could be subscribed to men in general.

Though, she _might_ have misled a few on purpose, for her own sick pleasure (it was rather devious, wasn't it?), and of course, to perfect the art of seduction and flirtation. She would need it, because that was another unspoken rule among the social climbers. Flirtation could get you a long way, or so her grandmother had lectured her, and she never doubted whatever advice she would offer.

It certainly helped she was the center of attention wherever she went. She was on her way up, and she would only get further the older she got. She was certain of this, and should she find trouble along the way, then she wouldn't hesitate to make use of her grandmother's connections. She was a woman with a mission, and her resolve was unwavering, and dating was fortunately not a priority.

She thought back to her first attempts at dating.

At first she went along with it, cautiously venturing into the new territory caused by adulthood, exploring the new opportunities presented. She did it in hope of finding someone like her, someone who hated the Capitol as much as she did.

What a fool she was. Silly and naïve, her mother would have scolded.

She soon discovered what a lonely path in life she had chosen, but her resolve only hardened by her findings in the game of love. She couldn't even stand the thought of them touching her, be it friendly hugs, subtle whispers in her ears or kisses on her cheeks. She felt sick each and every time they made physical contact with her, and she never let them do anything more than kiss her cheek.

Being a student at the Capitol Academy of Little Women and Proper Ladies certainly helped her keep the contact minimal, as they were known for their outstanding behavior and what not. Harlots, as the Academy described them, had no place there and were not tolerated.

Society looked down on frivolous behavior among the socialites in the upper classes, but Effie knew it was just for show. It was a game to them, nothing more and nothing less, and of course most of them had a few late night rendezvous'. It was just not something people openly talked about, because if you didn't acknowledge it, then it couldn't possibly have happened.

But then, much to her surprise, she met Seneca Crane at one of the elaborate parties she always attended.

He was a young man who was two years her senior, and aspiring to be a gamemaker. He wasn't like the others, though he was still very much a Capitol man in every sense of the word. She couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something about him, something different. He appeared almost humane compared to his peers.

They talked a lot, spent a considerable amount of time together, and she genuinely enjoyed his company. He wasn't just another dumb man; he could hold actual conversations and laugh at other Capitol citizens' expense. They didn't do that last part all that often, but once in a while they would see something or someone silly enough to warrant a good laughing.

But no matter how different he appeared to be, she knew she would have to tread carefully. He might be fun to be around, and exceptionally good company, but he was no rebel. He loved the Capitol too much, and he loved his life there. He certainly held no love for the people from the districts, and seeing as he was (most likely) the next game maker in line, she knew she couldn't trust him if it came down to that.

Again she was blown away by the loneliness she felt. Sudden pangs of heartache welled up like tears in the cold. Perhaps she would one day learn to live with it, but she highly doubted that would be the case. She simply wasn't that lucky.

Seneca and her were in a purely platonic kind of relationship, perhaps the closest she would ever come to a real friendship. He knew she wasn't into him, just like she knew he wasn't into her (she highly suspected certain body parts of hers were not to his liking). They respected each other and that was it – and it seemed to fend off potential suitors, on both ends. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.

She sighed deeply and took a sip from her cup of cinnamon and apple tea. The café was buzzing with mindless chatter and laughter from excited people, as the annual Hunger Games was about to begin. Screens were on, speakers were resonating through the streets, and people were babbling and laughing eagerly. It was the one time of the year where everyone in the Capitol was happy, and gathered to celebrate as a nation, even Christmas could not compare to the Games.

It was disgusting.

"Seneca, darling!" Effie gracefully rose from her seat, kissed each of his cheeks in their customary greeting, but as per usual he drew her into a hug afterwards. He was the only person she allowed these liberties, anyone else would have found themselves a few steps down the social ladder.

"Effie, my dear, it is so good to see you again." He gently let go of her. They sat down and he waved over a waitress, he too needed refreshments in all the exhilaration.

"You too, Seneca." She sipped from her cup. "How goes your internship? I hear this year is to be fabulous." She smiled excitedly.

"Indeed! They have spared no expense this year in celebration of the new gamemaker Martinus Argyris." Seneca sounded thrilled, but Effie had to refrain from cringing at the mention of the new gamemaker. He was a pompous… well, a word (actually more than one) Effie wouldn't dare say, after all, a lady never curses.

"Oh dear, just wait, in a few years it will be you! I am certain of this." How it pained her to utter such words. She truly wished him well, but she would rather he had chosen another career. This, however, was his dream. She could only wonder why.

"You should consider becoming an Escort, Effie. I think it would suit you." He eyed her curiously.

"An Escort? I wonder…" She looked bemused. Deep in thought she let her eyes wander, surveying the crowded streets. Gay and colorful. The Capitol in all its glory.

"In fact, I think you would be perfect as an Escort." Her eyes flicked back to his. "Just think of the lavish parties, the Victors you will get to meet, and not to forget – the fashion." He watched delightedly as her eyes lit up at the last word. "I have no doubt you would become the newest fashion icon faster than Inea can drink her wine, can you imagine?" He prattled on, his hands making exaggerated gestures.

"I never thought of that." She replied softly, her eyes gleaming in realization. It was an excellent idea. She had never thought of it as a possibility, but now the idea was festering like an infected wound. It was perfect, and it would provide a wide range of opportunities just ripe and ready to be exploited.

"I will put in a good word for you, if you are up for it." He smiled knowingly.

"It is perfect, Seneca!" She said animatedly. "I don't know why I never thought of it before."

"Perhaps you merely needed a push in the right direction from a good friend." He teased.

Her eyes shone with mirth. She knew there was a reason she kept him around.

He was right though; she had been in dire need of a push in the right direction, and he had no idea what his suggestion would bring.

* * *

…

"Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen."

_— __Ralph Waldo Emerson_

…

_Effie 16 years old_

She was sixteen when fate decided to help her along, to gently give her another much-needed push in the right direction. Seneca had given her a new purpose, a means to an end, and she was working hard to make it happen.

There was still too many loose ends though, too many unanswered questions demanding a solution, but she was getting there, albeit very slowly.

She was out shopping for a summer soiree, gliding through the busy streets of the Capitol with an air of sophistication and happiness. While shopping she was always happy and bubbly, always content, and it was perhaps the closest she came to internal serenity. She was getting better at shutting out unwanted feelings and memories, repressing them, but it would never be easy. The day she stopped caring, was the day she became as much of a monster as the people from the Capitol.

She hoisted one of her shopping bags higher up on her arm and took a sharp turn down one of the side streets, a cozy little passage she had noticed one day she had time to spare. Not many recognized the little streets and passages for what they truly were, which was nothing short of extraordinary. She found the best and most unique clothing in the long forgotten places, and it seemed almost hidden from the usually busy Capitol. Most tended to stick to the bigger and more crowded streets. She supposed it was all very mainstream, but diversity did exist in some ways.

She was just about to enter her favorite café, when she heard a name she hadn't heard in years. She nearly dropped everything in her hands, and it was a good thing she had more sense than to act on her impulses.

"Is Nero crazy?!" The woman with the purple wig hissed, her eyes darting suspiciously around the tiny square.

"Keep it quiet." He silenced her with the look in his eyes. No one else seemed to notice, but Effie did. She had always been very observant.

"His hands are tied, you know this." He let go of her arm. "You can come with me, Liz, I know it's been a while since you last saw him." The blue haired man whispered softly. Liz, the woman was called. Effie found the name rather simple and not very Capitol-ish, so perhaps it was short for something. They exchanged a few more whispers, before they started to move, and Effie needed to make a decision.

"Idina, darling, would you mind keeping my bags for a little while? I have a short errand to run, and it is so inconvenient to carry these bags around, and in this heat no less!" Effie chattered, smiling at the waitress she had known for months.

"Of course, Effie. Anything for you." Idina smiled, she understood her dilemma all too well. "This heat is simply unbearable, is it not?" She continued.

"Indeed." Effie nodded. "Oh, I must be off now. I will see you in a moment."

She followed them as inconspicuously as possible. Strolling down street after street, corners and odd little passages. But perhaps, in retrospect, she should have practiced her stealth a bit more, for as soon as the pair entered an old vent that led underground, they had her up against a wall.

"Who are you, and why are you following us?" A voice hissed in her ear. She gulped audibly when she felt a knife touch the delicate skin at her throat.

"Remove the knife and I will tell you." She bravely tried to bargain. She willed the tears forming in the corner of her eyes to disappear. It wasn't fear of her life that plagued her, rather the longtime hidden memories threatening to break loose.

"I don't think so, little lady." He chuckled darkly. "Now tell me who you are and why you are following us." His voice turned alarmingly serious. He meant business.

"I… I heard you mention Nero at the Square… I want to speak with him." Her voice wavered for a moment, before her resolve hardened.

"See! I told you never to mention his name in public, you crazy bitch." The man snarled at the woman called Liz. She scowled, but looked properly chastised. Effie found his manners appalling.

"How dare you speak to a lady that way!" Effie found herself saying before she could stop the words from leaving her mouth. Sometimes her manners and her astute sense of propriety was a curse.

"Shut up, and answer the damn questions!" He shouted. The tunnels must have been secure and soundproof for him to dare raise his voice in such a manner.

"I have never…" Effie began, but when she felt the knife press harder against her skin, she was forced to reevaluate her next words.

"My name is Effie Trinket, and I believe my father knew Nero. I have quite a few questions, you see." Effie said, letting out a deep breath. Now, if he would just remove the knife, then maybe they could have a proper and rational conversation.

"I'll be damned." A hoarse voice interrupted. All three heads turned in the direction of the intruder.

"Effie Trinket… that's a name I haven't heard in years." The man looked haggard and disheveled. He looked in need of a shower and a good hearty meal, his cheeks gaunt and eyes tired. She believed he had trouble sleeping, just like her, memories resurfacing continuously in the dark.

"You know her?" Liz asked puzzled.

"Her father was an old friend. You might as well bring her in." He nodded in the direction of the metal door. For a brief moment Effie found herself having second thoughts, but in all honesty, it was now or never. The room was small, the walls were dirty, and there was nothing more than an old armchair (going by the design she would say it was at least twenty years old) and a single bed.

"So what brings you here? Besides curiosity."

"I want revenge." She stated frostily. Her demeanor changed dramatically, much to the surprise of her two captors. She stood still as an ice sculpture.

"On who? Me?" He asked calmly. "Perhaps I should make it clear to you that we had nothing, whatsoever, to do with the death of your parents." He sat back in the worn chair, no doubt sighing at the predicament he found himself in.

"Oh, I am well aware of who killed my mother and father." She stared him right in the eyes. "You see, the Peacekeepers didn't think to look under the bed, when they decided to murder my parents most brutally in their own bedroom." Her words were laced with anger and hatred. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, disappearing underneath his greasy bangs.

"So you see, _Nero_, I know exactly who are to blame for this, and mark my words, I will have my revenge." Her eyes were blazing; the fury buried deep within was finally allowed to show after years of subduing it, years of hiding and pretending.

"You are very much your father's daughter. He was known to have quite a… vindictive streak." He considered her carefully, but she could see the mirth sparkling in his eyes.

"How do we know she's telling the truth?" Liz spat.

Nero ignored the spiteful comment completely, even if she was right to doubt Effie's motives. "And what is it you want from me? From us?"

"I want to help in whatever way that I can." She closed her eyes, her hands gripping her illustrious skirt tightly. "I want to see them burn." Her eyes opened, and she dearly hoped – for his sake – that he would take her seriously.

He smiled.

* * *

…

"Never tell the truth to people who are not worthy of it."

_— __Mark Twain_

…

_Effie 18 years old_

The party wasn't _just_ a party. It was _the_ party. It was where everyone who mattered made an appearance, former Victors, sponsors, the hottest politicians, fashion icons and the social butterflies. All this held in honor of the latest Victor.

She felt sick to her stomach just by looking at them, but in their eyes she was one of them now, the newest addition to their reign.

She presented them with unprecedented beautiful smiles, wore_ the_ outfit, and of course – offered vapid conversations. She was good at that. Pointless chats and smiles.

Though, there was one good thing about these parties.

The fashion; it was her savior, all the exotic dresses and shoes, it made her feel happy, and even though it made her look like any other Capitol citizen, she still loved it. Colors and elaborate designs. The finest silk, bows, feathers, oh she could go on and on.

Some dresses, however, still made her cringe, as did some of the shoes – comfort was the last thing designers thought of, if at all.

She had always adored the dresses and suits her mother and grandmother bought for her, but there was a distinct difference between children and adults' clothing in the Capitol.

She absolutely hated wearing the wigs for longer periods of time; they were itchy and uncomfortable, carting around if not placed correctly, and the heat was unbearable. Children were lucky it wasn't common to wear wigs at their age. She did, however, have an advantage, seeing as she had had a penchant for dressing up from an early age.

The make-up could also be a bit too much for her liking, so she preferred to keep it simple whenever she could. But in the long run she felt safer when her make-up was caked on. It wouldn't do to stand out after all.

Tonight she kept it relatively simple. It was probably the last time she could afford to look like herself anyway, this being her way into the ranks of insipid women. Once you were seen at a party like this, you would be remembered, how long and in what way depended on your ability to make a statement. If she failed to be memorable she would soon be forgotten or ridiculed for what she failed to achieve.

She saw it as an initiation, and tonight she would be remembered.

Her usually strawberry blonde hair was pulled up in a high braid, falling down to mid-back, sprayed with silver and glimmer. Two ostentatious black silk bows were added, one to each end of the beautiful braid.

Her dress was dark and silver, strapless and with a sweetheart neckline; a silver corset with black laces adorned the middle of the dress. It clung tightly to her figure, the skirt reached down to mid-thigh, and consisted of black and silver feathers. Her stilettoes were much too high, and were (VERY) painful to wear, but her absolute favorite pair out of her entire collection. They were brand new, black, and littered with little silver flowers along the sides. She wore black gloves reaching no further than her wrists, and had a bow-shaped black clutch in her hand.

Her make-up was kept fairly simple as well. Her lips and eyelids were silver, her eyelashes dark as the night, and minimal amount of powder, but with a bit of glimmer dusted over her cheeks. She felt beautiful, and by the looks she received from the men, she gathered they thought so as well.

But for the night she couldn't care less about them. Tonight was her night to be seen; she was there to make an impression, a statement. She was there to be remembered.

She laughed and mingled, and was at one point separated from her girlfriends because of the crowd, and all the dances she was coerced into. She took a deep breath, steadied herself and decided a drink would be in order. She would definitely need a few to get through the night.

She turned in the direction of the bar.

Then she saw him.

Haymitch Abernathy.

She would never forget the year he won the Hunger Games. She just couldn't.

The memory of him had always seemed to follow her. She wasn't sure why, but it never occurred to her that she might actually get to see him in person, which was kind of silly given her current occupation. She was an Escort trainee, the youngest to get accepted, so at one point or another she would get to see him, she just never thought it a possible scenario. Until now. She turned her attention back to him, when she realized she was caught up in her inner musings.

It wasn't proper to space out like that!

She looked closely at him, scrutinizing his every move. He looked drunk, and most likely was. Drinking seemed to follow a lot of Victors, at least the ones who weren't Career tributes – they coped just fine.

He was standing by the bar, swaying and looking like he was trying hard not fall face first on the floor. It would be quite the sight, and highly improper. His clothes, a brand new suit (it was definitely a piece by Lorel Balesh, and god he was talented!) was ruined already, going by the state of it.

"A Strawberry Dream with a chocolate sugar rim, please." She said to the bartender and threw him one of her pretty little smiles. It never failed to get a reaction of some sort.

She had dared to venture closer, to get a better look at the former Victor, and he didn't even notice her. He was nursing a glass of whiskey, filled to the brim and was slouching over the surface of the bar. He was a handsome man, but she could tell the years hadn't been kind to him; his drinking habits were no doubt the cause. He was twenty-nine, and while he still had that roguish charm, she knew it wouldn't last forever, not if he kept drinking like that.

She didn't know what compelled her to do it, but before she even knew what happened, she did the most daring thing she had ever done in her adult life.

She spoke the truth. Out loud.

It went against all she stood for and she wouldn't have done it, had she not been so enthralled with the man before her (and perhaps a tad bit tipsy). The memory of him and his time in the Arena still haunted her dreams.

"It's despicable, isn't it?" He looked up at her, seemingly forgetting his drink for the moment, not entirely sure she was speaking to him. She looked towards the buffet and the chocolate fountain. The crystal chandeliers and the extravagant dresses. Everything was spotless. Perfect.

"All this food." She nodded inconspicuously in the direction of the tables overflowing with food – a cornucopia for the citizens of the Capitol – and his eyes hesitantly followed her gaze. She was amazed he could even focus in his current state, but she gathered that he might have had _a lot_ of experience with that.

"Districts are starving and here they are, eating and eating, only to vomit in order to eat more. Ignorance sure is bliss, wouldn't you say?" She looked him square in the eyes, but refrained from looking for too long, no matter how much she wanted to. She was risking a lot by saying this much.

He looked startled.

"Your Strawberry Dream, Miss." The bartender was back, and she could see he gave her another onceover, clearly still finding her attractive enough to hold his attention.

"Thank you." She said, as she gave him another one of her prettiest smiles.

"Hold it, sweetheart." Haymitch slurred, while awkwardly grabbing for her arm. His hands were rough from hard work and somewhat sticky from half-dried booze, but she didn't find his touch all that unpleasant – as she probably should have. It was indecent, as her grandmother would have said (and she would have done so quite haughtily, too).

"Excuse me, Mr. Abernathy, would you be so kind as to let go of my arm?"

"What did you just say?"

"I'm not sure what you are referring to." She frowned at him; afraid he would make a scene. She hadn't anticipated his reaction, thinking he was either too plastered to understand or too smart to react. He was apparently neither.

"Wha-" Luckily he was cut off before he could make any accusations.

"Oh my! What a brute!" Inea interrupted, having seen her "friend's" discomfort.

"Will you release poor Euphemia at once!" Marcella demanded, and just like that he let go of her arm, scowling at the two intruders. Effie didn't get much of a say after that, as the two women practically dragged the dazed Effie towards the buffet.

"Did you say anything to him, Effie dear?"

"I merely wished him a good night, nothing more." Effie dramatically held her hand close to her chest with an audible gasp, playing the part of a scandalized young lady.

"Oh, that's our Effie! Always so sweet, it's no wonder you got accepted as an Escort trainee." Marcella crooned sweetly, eyeing Effie with something akin to pride in her eyes.

"My sentiments exactly! It's no wonder everyone adores you, darling." Inea said enthusiastically.

"Oh hush, you two, you make me sound like a saint." Effie said with a smile, batting her eyelashes innocently.

"But it's true!" And that's where Effie zoned out. She knew how fond they were of her, and her _popularity_. She smiled and listened as they both prattled on, but Effie had only one thing on her mind.

Him.

She couldn't help herself.

She turned around to give him one last look, and as she expected, he was still staring at her like she had grown another head.

She winked.

He dropped his drink.

She smiled mischievously at him, and deep down she hoped he wouldn't forget her.

* * *

AN: Annnd I suppose it's over for now. I hope it was okay… next chapter will contain quite a bit of Hayffie (the mature stuff…too).

Thanks for the lovely reviews! It was nice to know it was well received :) Until next time…

Love,

Eleonora


End file.
